Madre No More
by PissyNovelist
Summary: falloutkinkmeme fill! Dean Domino, as oppose to going to New Vegas, ventured beyond the Mojave into the ruins of DC, meeting someone who reminded him stunningly of the Courier; Miss Vault One-oh-One aka: Lone Wanderer . They exchange stories and Dean may have even learned to trust and feel something like he felt for Vera Keys once more.


**This was a fill for the falloutkinkmeme. I just thought I'd post it here in case anyone is like 'WOW, I WANT TO READ A FALLOUT STORY ABOUT A REALLY OBSCURE PAIRING FROM TWO DIFFERENT GAMES." Seriously, if I got one review saying "nice" I'd be happy that people gave a shit about this piece XD**

"Another ghoul? Wow, this is just great! Makes my day!" The bartender with bright eyes leaned over the counter, his voice at a low tone. The other ghoul, obviously ruling in age, pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded.

"Yes, yes. If you wouldn't mind, I'll have whiskey." Dean Domino waved the young boy off, rather insulted that he was not approached with awe as soon as he entered the Podunk bar. He removed his jacket, torn with months of travel and wear and tear. He received his whiskey, tossing the caps to him, and drank in silence. He sighed, thinking fondly of the days where he played in large venues and not sitting in bars with a fellow ghoul of lower class and a cheap whore.

"Anotha' corpse, eh? Well, ain't this a surprise." He heard an Irish drawl behind him. Dean grimaced. It was not like the Irish ladies he had courted in the past. It was harsh and disgusting.

"Pardon me? Corpse? I'm going to let you off on that. Your I.Q clearly does not proceed into yonder two digits." Dean smirked, taking another sip. That seemed to throw the old man off a bit. He saw the bartender curl inwards into the wall, washing a glass. Suddenly, the Irish man was headed towards the bartender with a raised hand.

"Are ya snickerin' over thar, corpse? I'll give ya one real good' smackin!" As the white haired bigot's hand began to slam down through the air, and before Dean could reach his pistol, the door slammed open. A black haired girl with milky pale skin hopped over the piece of counter beside Dean and tackled the Irish man.

"What did I tell you about hitting him? I could hear you from Dunwich with all that yelling. Fuck you, Colin. Fuck you!" The strange girl started to pummel the man with her fists, blood starting to fly about. Dean removed his glasses, blinking a few times before being able to breathe. He had been alive many years but he had never seen a girl so wasteland worn, yet so morally driven for the underdog known as the ghoul.

"I'm not killing you because you need to learn a lesson. I know every scar on this boy's body and if you think I won't know if you beat him again, you are incredibly wrong. You understand that, you thick fuck?" With a final kick, the man Dean now knew as Colin crawled upstairs. The woman… girl? Dean couldn't quite tell her age. But she had her arms wrapped around the ghoul who was shaking.

"Are you okay, Gobbie? Did he touch you?" Dean nearly smirked at the way she was touching the bartender. After leaving the Madre, he never thought a sane woman would touch a ghoul man.

"I'm fine, Celine. Thanks for that."

"If he does it again," the girl leaned up and kissed his cheek ", you just let me know. I'll be here before a tear hits your cheeks." She hugged him once more, turning to see Dean.

"Well, hi! You're new in town, ain't you?"

"Just got the gate to open it's legs this morning. I assure you, I've played better venues but this place will have to do. But where are my manners? I," Dean smirked and held out his hand ", am Dean Domino." She took his hand graciously, Dean able to feel his fingertips graze along his exposed veins.

"Well, I'm Celine. Also know and the Lone Wanderer! But Three Dog has taken to calling me the One Last Hope for Humanity. He's just a big radio dee jay. He likes to talk me up. Nice bowtie! You don't look like the DC folk." She leaned over the bar, giving him all her attention. He had to admit, it was nice being pursued. No one had given him this much interest in… oh, seven months? Had it been seven months since he last crossed paths with that little Courier?

"I'm from Nevada." Dean gave her his most charming smile, used for only the best of occasions such as ones involving little Couriers and Miss Keys. Celine opened her eyes wide, jaw smacking the floor.

"Like, New Vegas? No way, I've heard crazy stories about that place! How is it there? I've heard boat loads about the casino families. Is it true, what they say about those White gloved or White masked freaks anyway?" She leaned in closer, if that was even possible. Dean looked at her face, concluding she was only twenty one years old or not far from it. She was like the Courier… yet far less Wasteland wear on her.

"No, no dear. I didn't spend much time in that part of Nevada. I had been spending my time in a casino buried in radiation and history of a land before bombs. The Sierra Madre. Ever heard?" He hadn't expected her to know, yet she dug through her bag with a pink tongue darting to lick her bottom lip. Unfolding a large poster, a familiar female body sitting upon a golden 'SM'.

"Where did you find this?" Dean leaned over the poster, running a fingertip along Vera's long legs. It had been many moons since he saw such a candid of his love.

"I was just scavenging around through an old car and found it in a suitcase. I thought she was pretty, so I took it." Celine shrugged, hopping up on the counter and viewing the poster. He sighed, remembering so vividly how Vera's legs wrapped around his waist, pinned up against his dressing room wall. A smile, concealed to the best of his abilities, crept upon his ancient features.

"Yes, she is very pretty indeed," as Dean folded the paper up, Celine suggested he kept it ", oh, my dear. No thank you, as much as I would love to… I've let go of that place."

"Beginning again, right on. Nothing wrong with that. I suppose letting it go doesn't mean you wouldn't want to talk about it… before the war?"

Dean regarded her with a look of contempt. Not since the Courier had he met such an interesting individual. He recalled the mistakes he made with the blonde haired girl back in the Madre, choosing to not make the same ones again. The Courier had the position to be a very trustworthy ally, but his sarcasm had pushed her away. He needed an ally… someone he could turn to if he felt the urge to go trekking across the wastes.

"Well, Lone Wanderer. Let's have a drink and talk."

She giggled with excitement, asking Gob to bring them whatever drinks they choose. He chose whiskey, ever so classy, while she chose Nuka-Cola with Vodka. He took a few shots, turning to the bright eyes blinking rapidly in anticipation.

"So, the Madre." She slapped the bar, allowing him to pour out his stories.

"Ah, it was a monument. Golden… shining, set upon a hilltop. It's shadow would cascade upon the ground for miles, glimmering and wallowing in it's promises to find fortune… to begin again. A beautiful casino built around the woman on that poster; Vera Keys. She was a muse…" He started with that, leading on into a rather… choppy version of the Sierra Madre. He had noticed, with every time Vera Keys passed his lips with his usual rolled 'r's, she would sigh dreamily and lean a little closer.

Oh attention, how Dean had missed thee.

"Once the bombs fell… it all changed." He sighed, looking around the bar. Gob was still cleaning, the whore he had saw leave was doing a house call, the Irish man was hiding away from the Wanderer. He grabbed her arm with a gentleman's touch, running a finger down the screen. So much like the Courier, this young thing. Dean chuckled, noticing he had been talking for an hour and a while.

"I'm afraid it's getting late, my dear. Past bedtime?" Celine rolled her eyes, finishing off her second Nuka-Vodka this evening.

"Hardly. I've spent weeks without sleep scavenging, cleaning, and saving people in the wastes. If I can do all that boring shit without tiring or losing my attention span, I can listen to a real interesting story from a true to god pre-war! Would you tell me about the Sierra Madre… post bombs? If you don't want to, you don't have to and if it's private… I can keep a secret." Dean was hesitant… then he figured it was the only true interesting story he had left. If this girl wanted to hear about him and his endeavors, he would not disappoint.

"I was a guest, well, prisoner of her for two hundred years… plus a few more with a beautiful combustible bomb collar strapped around my neck oppose to a bow tie" Dean felt his neck, having still not adapted to the lack of the collar ", ah, the Sierra Madre, you truly had me in your vice grip. The legend you withheld… as if to hide the curses. Some foolishness of her trapped within a city of dead; a city of ghosts beneath a blood red cloud… a bright shining monument luring treasure hunters to their doom." He felt Celine place her fingertips upon the back of his hand. She was shaky and hesitant, looking to him for a warning or approving glance. Dean removed his glasses, allowing a true smile which had not faltered his features in many, many years reach his eyes. She held his hand, as if she was able to feel this would be a hard tale for him to retell.

Dean told her about the long string of people, tempted by the voice of Vera and the treasures in this paradise, who tried to complete the heist of a lifetime. He told her of the Mutant with Multiple Personality Disorder and the mute Christine who had been hunting for a man through all corners of the wastes. Celine smiled and almost let a few tears fall upon hearing the fate of Christine, who chose to stay at the Madre and of Dog's eventual escape into freedom of sickness.

And yes… he told her about the Courier who managed to survive it all. Of her charming wit, her ability to banter with him, how she never brought up how scared he so obviously was when they got close. The kind woman, who he had taken for another selfish pawn, took the time to get to know each of her partners. How the Courier left him a bag just in front of the table, the Old World radio playing Christine's goodbye… how she had so selflessly left him half the gold bars. A note which read_ "For being a strong, patient man I'd hop into bed with. Thanks for having my back out there, proving against what other allies had thought of you locking me in there for your own personal gain. You'll use this better than I. – Six"_. He didn't forget to mention how much the Wanderer reminded him of the Courier in all her mannerisms and charming way of existing.

Celine looked to her Pip-Boy, touching his shoulder with a soft caress.

"It's three A.M. We should probably head off in out directions traveler. If you're headed for the ghoul city in downtown DC, I'll take you if you want. It's riddled with non-friendly super mutants not like the one you met in the Madre." She stood, stretching out her bones with loud cracking noise and tightening the bun that sat atop her head.

"No thank you darling," He put his glasses back on, checking her backside as she headed to the door ", I think I like it here much better." He watched her turn with a genuine smile he thought didn't exsist in the wastes.

"Then come on over. I'll clean your spiffy Vegas clothes and we can talk some more."

"Thank you, my dear… partner." As he was raising his arm to attract attention of the Irish man, the ghoul bartender long gone to take a short lives rest, a soft coughing noise stopped him.

"If you need a place to stay, I have a huge home. I'll even repay you for your stories with mine? Come on," Dean was to his feet with both bag and jacket in hand before she started the second syllable of that sentence ", it started in the Vault. Well, actually outside the Vault. Before the Vault, before I was born. Uhg, you have no idea what I'm talking about. Well, it started with Project Purity."

**xoxoPN**


End file.
